The Angel of Terror

by Edgar Wallace

  Chapter XIII

  There was one thing which rather puzzled and almost piqued LydiaMeredith, and that was the failure of Jean Briggerland's prophecy tomaterialise. Jean had said half jestingly that Jack Glover would be afrequent visitor at the flat; in point of fact, he did not come at all.Even when she visited the offices of Rennett, Glover and Simpson, it wasMr. Rennett who attended to her, and Jack was invisible. Mr. Rennettsometimes explained that he was at the courts, for Jack did all thecourt work, sometimes that he had gone home.

  She caught a glimpse of him once as she was driving past the Law Courtsin the Strand. He was standing on the pavement talking to a be-wiggedcounsel, so possibly Mr. Rennett had not stated more than the truth whenhe said that the young man's time was mostly occupied by the processesof litigation.

  She was curious enough to look through the telephone directory todiscover where he lived. There were about fifty Glovers, and ten ofthese were John Glovers, and she was enough of a woman to call up six ofthe most likely only to discover that her Mr. Glover was not amongstthem. She did not know till later that his full name was Bertram JohnGlover, or she might have found his address without difficulty.

  Mrs. Morgan had now arrived, to Lydia's infinite relief, and had takencontrol of the household affairs. The new maid was as perfect as a newmaid could be, and but for the nightly intrusion of the taciturn Jaggs,to whom, for some reason, Mrs. Morgan took a liking, the current of herdomestic life ran smoothly.

  She was already becoming accustomed to the possession of wealth. Thehabit of being rich is one of the easiest acquired, and she foundherself negotiating for a little house in Curzon Street and a morepretentious establishment in Somerset, with a sangfroid which astonishedand frightened her.

  The purchase and arrival of her first car, and the engagement of herchauffeur had been a thrilling experience. It was incredible, too, thather new bankers should, without hesitation, deliver to her enormous sumsof money at the mere affixing of her signature to an oblong slip ofpaper.

  She had even got over the panic feeling which came to her on her firstfew visits to the bank. On these earlier occasions she had felt ratherlike an inexpert forger, who was endeavouring to get money by falsepretence, and it was both a relief and a wonder to her when thenonchalant cashier thrust thick wads of bank-notes under the grille,without so much as sending for a policeman.

  "It's a lovely flat," said Jean Briggerland, looking round the pinkdrawing-room approvingly, "but of course, my dear, this is one that wasalready furnished for you. I'm dying to see what you will make of yourown home when you get one."

  She had telephoned that morning to Lydia saying that she was paying acall, asking if it was convenient, and the two girls were alone.

  "It _is_ a nice flat, and I shall be sorry to leave it," agreed Lydia."It is so extraordinarily quiet. I sleep like a top. There is no noiseto disturb one, except that there was rather an unpleasant happening theother morning."

  "What was that?" asked Jean, stirring her tea.

  "I don't know really what happened," said Lydia. "I heard an awfulgroaning very early in the morning and I got up and looked out of thewindow. There were two men in the courtyard. One, I think, had hurthimself very badly. I never discovered what happened."

  "They must have been workmen, I should think," said Jean, "or else theywere drunk. Personally, I have never liked taking furnished flats," shewent on. "One always breaks things, and there's such a big bill to payat the end. And then I always lose the keys. One usually has two orthree. You should be very careful about that, my dear, they make anenormous charge for lost keys," she prattled on.

  "I think the house agent gave me three," said Lydia. She walked to herlittle secretaire, opened it and pulled out a drawer.

  "Yes, three," she said, "there is one here, one I carry, and Mrs. Morganhas one."

  "Have you seen Jack Glover lately?"

  Jean never pursued an enquiry too far, by so much as one syllable.

  "No, I haven't seen him," smiled Lydia, "You weren't a good prophet."

  "I expect he is busy," said the girl carelessly. "I think I could likeJack awfully--if he hadn't such a passion for ordering people about. Howcareless of me!" She had tipped over her teacup and its contents wererunning across the little tea table. She pulled out her handkerchiefquickly and tried to stop the flow.

  "Oh, please, please don't spoil your beautiful handkerchief," saidLydia, rising hurriedly, "I will get a duster."

  She ran out of the room and was back almost immediately, to find Jeanstanding with her back to the secretaire examining the ruins of her latehandkerchief with a smile.

  "Let me put your handkerchief in water or it will be stained," saidLydia, putting out her hand.

  "I would rather do it myself," laughed Jean Briggerland, and pushed thehandkerchief into her bag.

  There were many reasons why Lydia should not handle that flimsy piece ofcambric and lace, the most important of which was the key which Jean hadtaken from the secretaire in Lydia's absence, and had rolled inside thetea-stained handkerchief.

  A few days later Mr. Bertram John Glover interviewed a high official atScotland Yard, and the interview was not a particularly satisfactory oneto the lawyer. It might have been worse, had not the police commissionerbeen a friend of Jack's partner.

  The official listened patiently whilst the lawyer, with professionalskill, marshalled all his facts, attaching to them the suspicions whichhad matured to convictions.

  "I have sat in this chair for twenty-five years," said the head of theC.I.D., "and I have heard stories which beat the best and the worst ofdetective stories hollow. I have listened to cranks, amateur detectives,crooks, parsons and expert fictionists, but never in my experience haveI ever heard anything quite so improbable as your theory. It happensthat I have met Briggerland and I've met his daughter too, and a morebeautiful girl I don't think it has been my pleasure to meet."

  Jack groaned.

  "Aren't you feeling well?" asked the chief unpleasantly.

  "I'm all right, sir," said Jack, "only I'm so tired of hearing aboutJean Briggerland's beauty. It doesn't seem a very good argument tooppose to the facts--"

  "Facts!" said the other scornfully. "What facts have you given us?"

  "The fact of the Briggerlands' history," said Jack desperately."Briggerland was broke when he married Miss Meredith under theimpression that he would get a fortune with his wife. He has lived byhis wits all his life, and until this girl was about fifteen, they wereexisting in a state of poverty. They lived in a tiny house in Ealing,the rent of which was always in arrears, and then Briggerland becameacquainted with a rich Australian of middle age who was crazy about hisdaughter. The rich Australian died suddenly."

  "From an overdose of veronal," said the chief. "It was established atthe inquest--I got all the documents out after I received yourletter--that he was in the habit of taking veronal. You suggest he wasmurdered. If he was, for what? He left the girl about six thousandpounds."

  "Briggerland thought she was going to get it all," said Jack.

  "That is conjecture," interrupted the chief. "Go on."

  "Briggerland moved up west," Jack went on, "and when the girl wasseventeen she made the acquaintance of a man named Gunnesbury, who wentjust as mad about her. Gunnesbury was a midland merchant with a wife andfamily. He was so infatuated with her that he collected all the loosemoney he could lay his hands on--some twenty-five thousand pounds--andbolted to the continent. The girl was supposed to have gone on ahead,and he was to join her at Calais. He never reached Calais. The theorywas that he jumped overboard. His body was found and brought in toDover, but there was none of the money in his possession that he haddrawn from the Midland Bank."

  "That is a theory, too," said the chief, shaking his head. "The identityof the girl was never established. It was known that she was a friend ofGunnesbury's, but there was proof that she was in London on the night ofhis death. It was a clear case of suicide."

  "A year later," Jack went on,
"she forced a meeting with Meredith, hercousin. His father had just died--Jim had come back from Central Africato put things in order. He was not a woman's man, and was a grave,retiring sort of fellow, who had no other interest in life than hisshooting. The story of Meredith you know."

  "And is that all?" asked the chief politely.

  "All the facts I can gather. There must be other cases which are beyondthe power of the investigator to unearth."

  "And what do you expect me to do?"

  Jack smiled.

  "I don't expect you to do anything," he said frankly. "You are notexactly supporting my views with enthusiasm."

  The chief rose, a signal that the interview was at an end.

  "I'd like to help you if you had any real need for help," he said. "Butwhen you come to me and tell me that Miss Briggerland, a girl whoseinnocence shows in her face, is a heartless criminal and murderess, anda conspirator--why, Mr. Glover, what do you expect me to say?"

  "I expect you to give adequate protection to Mrs. Meredith," said Jacksharply. "I expect you, sir, to remember that I've warned you that Mrs.Meredith may die one of those accidental deaths in which Mr. and MissBriggerland specialise. I'm going to put my warning in black and white,and if anything happens to Lydia Meredith, there is going to be serioustrouble on the Thames Embankment."

  The chief touched a bell, and a constable came in.

  "Show Mr. Glover the way out," he said stiffly.

  Jack had calmed down considerably by the time he reached the ThamesEmbankment, and was inclined to be annoyed with himself for losing histemper.

  He stopped a newsboy, took a paper from his hand, and, hailing a cab,drove to his office.

  There was little in the early edition save the sporting news, but on thefront page a paragraph arrested his eye.

  "DANGEROUS LUNATIC AT LARGE."

  "The Medical Superintendent at Norwood Asylum reports that Dr. Algernon John Thun, an inmate of the asylum, escaped last night, and is believed to be at large in the neighbourhood. Search parties have been organised, but no trace of the man has been found. He is known to have homicidal tendencies, a fact which renders his immediate recapture a very urgent necessity."

  There followed a description of the wanted man. Jack turned to anotherpart of the paper, and dismissed the paragraph from his mind.

  His partner, however, was to bring the matter up at lunch. NorwoodAsylum was near Dulwich, and Mr. Rennett was pardonably concerned.

  "The womenfolk at my house are scared to death," he said at lunch. "Theywon't go out at night, and they keep all the doors locked. How did yourinterview with the commissioner go on?"

  "We parted the worst of friends," said Jack, "and, Rennett, the next manwho talks to me about Jean Briggerland's beautiful face is going to bekilled dead through it, even though I have to take a leaf from her bookand employ the grisly Jaggs to do it."